Harlequin Desire February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: The King Next DoorMarriage With BenefitsA Real Cowboy (Kings of California)

by Maureen Child

  So he hadn’t been tearing up the sheets with his lawyer all night. So he’d rearranged his appointments to bring her here. So what?

  “Last night, you proposed a partnership,” he said. “That means we both bring our strengths to the table, and that’s what I’m doing. Fact of the matter is you need me and for more than a signature on a piece of paper. You want everyone to believe this marriage is real, but you don’t seem to have any concept of how to go about it.”

  “Oh, and you do?” she shot back and cursed the quaver in her voice.

  Of course she didn’t know how to be married, for real or otherwise. How could she? Every day, she helped women leave their husbands and boyfriends, then taught them to build new, independent lives.

  Every day, she reminded herself that love was for other people, for those who could figure out how to do it without glomming on to a man, expecting him to fix all those emotionally bereft places inside, like she’d done in college right after her parents’ deaths.

  “Yeah. I’ve been around my parents for thirty years. My brother was married. My grandfather is married. The name of the company isn’t Wheeler Family Partners because we like the sound of it. I work with married men every day.”

  Somehow he’d moved back into the foyer, where she’d remained. He was close. Too close. When he reached out to sweep hair from her cheek, she jumped.

  “Whoa there, darlin’. See, that’s not how married people act. They touch each other. A lot.” There was that killer smile, and it communicated all the scandalous images doubtlessly swimming through his head. “And, honey, they like to touch each other. You’re going to have to get used to it.”

  Right. She unclenched her fists.

  They’d have to pretend to be lovey-dovey in public, and they’d have to practice in private. But she didn’t have to start this very minute.

  She stepped back, away from the electricity sparking between her and this man she’d deny to her grave being attracted to. The second she gave in, it was all over. Feelings would start to creep in and heartbreak would follow. “The house will do. I’ll split the rent with you.”

  With a raised eyebrow, he said, “What about the ring? You haven’t even looked at it.”

  “As long as it’s round, it’s fine, too.”

  “I might have to get it sized. Here, try it.” He flipped open the lid and plucked out a whole lot of sparkle. When he slid it on her finger, she nearly bit her tongue to keep a stupid female noise of appreciation from slipping out. The ring fit perfectly and caught the sunlight from the open front door, igniting a blaze in the center of the marble-size diamond.

  “Flashy. Exactly what I would have picked out.” She tilted her hand in the other direction to set off the fiery rainbow again.

  “Is that your subtle way of demonstrating yet again how much you need me?” He chuckled. “Women don’t pick out their own engagement rings. Men do. This one says Lucas Wheeler in big letters.”

  No, it said Lucas Wheeler’s Woman in big letters.

  For better or worse, that’s what she’d asked to be for the next six months, and the ring would serve as a hefty reminder to her and everyone else. She had proposed a partnership; she just hadn’t expected it to be fifty-fifty. Furthermore, she’d royally screwed up by not thinking through how to present a fake marriage as real to the rest of the world.

  Lucas had been right there, filling in the gaps, picking up the slack and doing his part. She should embrace what he brought to the table instead of fighting him, which meant she had to go all the way.

  “I’ll take the contracts to my lawyer this afternoon. As is.”

  Cia Wheeler. It made her skin crawl.

  But she was perfectly capable of maintaining her independence, no matter what else Lucas threw at her. It was only a name, and with the trust money in her bank account, the shelter her mother never had a chance to build would become a reality. That was the true link to her parents, and she’d change her name back the second the divorce was final. “When can we move in?”

  Three

  Cia eased into her grandfather’s study, tiptoeing in deference to his bowed head and scribbling hand, but his seventy-year-old faculties hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. He glanced up from the desk, waved her in and scratched out another couple of sentences on his yellow legal pad. Paper and pen, same as he’d used for decades. Benicio Allende owned one of the premier technology companies in the world, yet remained firmly entrenched in the past.

  A tiny bit of guilt over the lie she was about to tell him curled her toes.

  Abuelo folded his hands and regarded her with his formidable deep-set gaze. “What brings you by today?”

  Of course he cut right to the purpose of her unusual visit, and she appreciated it. A dislike of extraneous decorum was the only thing they had in common. When she’d come to live with him after her parents’ accident, the adjustment had been steep on both sides. Prior to that, he’d been just as much her dad’s boss as her dad’s father. She’d long since stopped wishing for a grandfather with mints in his pocket and a twinkly smile.

  Instead, she’d gleaned everything she could from him about how to succeed.

  “Hello, Abuelo. I have some news. I’m getting married.” Better leave it at that. He’d ask questions to get the pertinent information.

  Their stiff holiday dinners and occasional phone calls had taught her not to indulge in idle chatter, especially not about her personal life. Nothing made him more uncomfortable than the subject of his granddaughter dating.

  “To whom?”

  “Lucas Wheeler.” Whose diamond glittered from her third finger, weighing down her hand. She’d almost forgotten the ring that morning and had had to dash back to slip it on. A happily engaged woman wouldn’t even have taken it off. “Of Wheeler Family Partners.”

  “Fine family. Very good choice.” He nodded once, and she let out a breath. He hadn’t heard the rumors about Lucas and his affair with the married woman. Usually Abuelo didn’t pay attention to gossip. But nothing about this fake marriage was usual.

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  The antique desk clock ticked as Abuelo leaned back in his chair, his shock of white hair a stark contrast to black leather. “I’m surprised he didn’t come with you for a proper introduction.”

  Lucas had insisted he should do exactly that, but she’d talked him out of it in case Abuelo didn’t buy the story she and Lucas had concocted. Everything hinged on getting over this hurdle, and she needed to handle it on her own. She owed Lucas that much.

  “I wanted to tell you myself first. We’re getting married so quickly...I knew it could be viewed as impulsive, but I actually dated Lucas previously. When I started focusing on other things, we drifted apart. He never forgot me. We reunited by chance at an event last week, and it was as if we’d never been separated.”

  Dios. When she and Lucas had discussed the story, it hadn’t sounded so ridiculously romantic. Since she’d never talked to Abuelo about her love life, hopefully he wouldn’t clue in on the implausibility of his granddaughter being swept off her feet.

  “Other things? You mean the shelter.” Abuelo’s brows drew into a hawklike line. He didn’t like the way she’d buried herself in her mother’s passion and never missed an opportunity to harp on it, usually by telling her what her life should look like instead. “I expect you’ll now focus on your husband, as a wife should.”

  Yeah, that was going to happen.

  Abuelo was convinced a husband would make her forget all about the shelter and help her move past the loss of her parents. He grieved for his son and daughter-in-law by banishing them from his mind and couldn’t accept that she grieved by tirelessly pursuing her mother’s goal—a fully funded shelter with no danger of being closed due to lack of money.

  Her grandfather refused to understand
that the shelter provided more lasting satisfaction than a husband ever could.

  “I know what’s expected of me in this marriage.”

  Did she ever. She had to pretend to be in love with a man who turned her brain into a sea sponge. Still, it was worth it.

  “Excellent. I’m very pleased with this union. The Wheeler fortune is well established.”

  Translation—she’d managed to snag someone who wasn’t a fortune hunter, the precise reason Abuelo hadn’t tied the trust to marriage. The reminder eliminated the last trace of her guilt. If he’d shown faith in her judgment, a fake marriage could have been avoided.

  “I’m pleased that you’re pleased.”

  “Dulciana, I want you to be happy. I hope you understand this.”

  “I do.” Abuelo, though fearsome at times, loved her in his way. They just had different definitions of happy. “I’m grateful for your guidance.”

  He evaluated her for a moment, his wrinkles deepening as he frowned. “I don’t pretend to understand your avid interest in hands-on charity work, but perhaps after you’ve established your household, you may volunteer a few hours a week. If your husband is supportive.”

  She almost laughed. “Lucas and I have already come to an agreement about that. Thanks, though, for the suggestion. By the way, we’re going to have a small civil ceremony with no guests. It’s what we both want.”

  “You’re not marrying in the church?”

  The sting in his tone hit its mark with whipping force. She’d known this part couldn’t be avoided but had left it for last on purpose. “Lucas is Protestant.”

  And divorce was not easily navigated after a Catholic ceremony. The plan was sticky enough without adding to it.

  “Sit,” he commanded, and with a sigh, she settled into the creaky leather chair opposite the desk.

  Now she was in for it—Abuelo would have to be convinced she’d made these decisions wisely. In his mind, she was clearly still a seventeen-year-old orphan in need of protection from the big, bad world. She put her game face on and waded into battle with her hardheaded grandfather, determined to win his approval.

  After all, everything she knew about holding her ground she’d learned from him.

  * * *

  Four days, two phone calls and one trip to notarize the contracts and apply for a marriage license later, Lucas leaned on the doorjamb of Matthew’s old house—correction, his and Cia’s house, for now anyway—and watched Cia pull into the driveway. In a red Porsche.

  What an excellent distraction from the text message his brother had just sent—We lost Schumacher Industrial. Lucas appreciated the omission of “thanks to you.”

  Matthew never passed around blame, which of course heightened Lucas’s guilt. If Wheeler Family Partners folded, he’d have destroyed the only thing his brother had left.

  As Cia leaped out of the car, he hooked a thumb in the pocket of his cargos and whistled. “That’s a mighty fine point-A-to-point-B ride, darlin’. Lots of starving children in Africa could be fed with those dollars.”

  “Don’t trip over your jaw, Wheeler,” she called and slammed the door, swinging her dark ponytail in an arc. “My grandfather gave me this car when I graduated from college, and I have to drive something.”

  “Doesn’t suck that it goes zero to sixty in four-point-two seconds, either. Right, my always-in-a-hurry fiancée?” His grin widened as she stepped up on the porch, glare firmly in place. “Come on, honey. Lighten up. The next six months are going to be long and tedious if you don’t.”

  “The next six months are going to be long and tedious no matter what. My grandfather is giving us a villa in Mallorca as a wedding present. A villa, Wheeler. What do I say to that? ‘No, thanks, we’d prefer china,’” she mimicked in a high voice and wobbled her head. That dark ponytail flipped over her shoulder.

  The times he’d been around her previously, she’d always had her hair down. And had been wearing some nondescript outfit.

  Today, in honor of moving day no doubt, she’d pulled on a hot-pink T-shirt and jeans. Both hugged her very nice curves, and the ponytail revealed an intriguing expanse of neck, which might be the only vulnerable place on Cia’s body.

  Every day should be moving day.

  “Tell your grandfather to make a donation, like I told my parents. How come my family has to follow the rules but yours doesn’t?”

  “I did. You try telling my grandfather what to do. Es imposible.” She threw up her hands, and he bit back a two-bulldozers-one-hole comment, which she would not have appreciated and wouldn’t have heard anyway because she rushed on. “He’s thrilled to pieces about me marrying you, God knows why, and bought the reunion story, hook, line and sinker.”

  “Hey now,” Lucas protested. “I’m an upstanding member of the community and come from a long line of well-respected businessmen. Why wouldn’t he be thrilled?”

  “Because you’re—” she flipped a hand in his direction, and her engagement ring flashed “—you. Falling in and out of bimbos’ beds with alarming frequency and entirely too cocky for your own good. Are we going inside? I’d like to put the house in some kind of order.”

  Enough was enough. He tolerated slurs—some deserved, some not—from a lot of people. Either way, his wife wasn’t going to be one of them.

  “Honey?” He squashed the urge to reach out and lift her chin. Determined to get her to meet him halfway, he instead waited until she looked at him. “Listen up. What you see is what you get. I’m not going to apologize for rubbing you the wrong way. I like women, and I won’t apologize for that, either. But I haven’t dated anyone since Lana, and you’re pushing my considerable patience to the limit if you’re suggesting I’d sleep with another woman while my ring is on your finger. Even if the ring is for show.”

  A slight breeze separated a few strands of hair from the rest of her ponytail as she stared up at him, frozen, with a hint of confusion flitting across her face. “No. I didn’t mean that. It was, uh... I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. I’ll keep my big mouth shut from now on.”

  He laughed. “Darlin’, I don’t get mad. I get even.”

  With that, he swept her off her feet and carried her over the threshold. She weighed less than cotton candy, and her skin was fresh with the scent of coconut and lime. Did she smell like that all the time or only on moving day?

  Her curled fist whacked him in the shoulder, but he ignored it, too entranced by the feel of previously undiscovered soft spots hidden amid all her hard edges.

  “What is this?” she sputtered. “Some caveman show of dominance?”

  Gently, he set down the bundle of bristling woman on the marble floor in the foyer.

  “Neighbors were watching,” he said, deadpan.

  They hadn’t been. Matthew had carried Amber over the threshold and had told the story a bunch of times about nicking the door frame when he whacked it with his new bride’s heel.

  Lucas had always envisioned doing that with his way, way, way in the future wife, too—minus the door frame whacking—and wasn’t about to let the Queen of Contrary tell him no. Even if they weren’t technically married yet. Close enough, and it was practice for the eventual real deal, where his wife would gaze at him adoringly as he carried her.

  He couldn’t get a clear picture of this fictitious future wife. In his imagination, Cia reappeared in his arms instead.

  “We have an agreement.” She jammed her hands down onto her hips. “No division of property. No messiness. And no physical relationship. What happened to that?”

  He smirked. “That wasn’t even close to physical, darlin’. Now, if I was to do this—” he snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her up against him, fitting her into the niches of his body “—I’d be getting warmer.”

  She wiggled a little in protest and managed to slide right into a spot t
hat stabbed a hot poker through his groin. He sucked in a cleansing breath.

  This was Cia, the most beautiful and least arousing female he’d ever met. Why did his skin feel as if it was about to combust? “That’s right. Snuggle right in, honey. Now that’s so close to physical, it’s scorching hot.”

  “What are you doing, Wheeler?” She choked on the last syllable as he leaned in, a hairbreadth from tasting that high-speed mouth, and trailed a finger down her tight jaw.

  “Practicing.”

  If he moved one tiny neck muscle the right way, they’d be kissing. Soon, this firecracker in his arms would be Mrs. Lucas Wheeler, and he hadn’t kissed her once. Maybe he should. Might shut her up for a minute.

  “Practicing for what?”

  “To be a happy couple. My parents invited us over for dinner tonight. Engagement celebration.” Instantly she stopped wiggling, and the light hit her upturned face and her wide, frightened eyes. “Well, I’ll be hog-tied and spoon-fed to vultures for breakfast. Your eyes are blue. Not brown.”

  “My grandparents came from northern Spain. It’s not that unusual.”

  “A man should know the color of his wife’s eyes. Marriage 101.” Disconcerted, he released her. He had to get her scent out of his nose.

  He shoved a hand through his hair, but it didn’t release a bit of the sudden pressure against his skull.

  He’d wanted to kiss her. It had taken a whole lot of will-power not to. What had he gotten himself into?

  He barely knew her, knew nothing about how to handle her, nothing about her past or even her present. He had to learn. Fast.

  The Manzanares contract represented more than a vital shot in the arm for his livelihood. It was a chance to fix his problems on his own, without his big brother’s help, and prove to everyone that Lucas Wheeler wasn’t the screw-up womanizer people assumed.

  “What else don’t I know?” he asked.

  “That I have to work tonight. I can’t go to your parents’ for dinner. You have to check with me about this kind of stuff.”